


Blades & Lyrium

by swooningtrash (littleoracle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Deep Roads, Early Fenhawke - Freeform, Fenris Needs a Hug, Fluff, Hawke is annoyed at being Champion sometimes, Hawke is just the man to give him one, M/M, Varric's letter, Vignette, dad!fenhawke, purple!Hawke being cheeky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:04:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoracle/pseuds/swooningtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short Fenhawke vignettes based on the prompts found here: <a href="http://bailey--elizabeth.deviantart.com/journal/31-writing-prompts-214190209">31 writing prompts.</a></p><p>These are mostly set in the same universe as my Blades & Lyrium series (geez, never planned on it being a series!) though some may be outside that setting. Might feature some other characters as well, in which case they'll be added to the tags.</p><p>Things stick pretty close to canon, with m!mage Hawke, friendmanced Fenris (even though I sided with mages, ha!) and leaving Hawke in the Fade (which I did not do in my playthrough because I just couldn't even though I feel like it makes some sense).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letter

The scroll had come by crow, direct to Hawke. A red ribbon and a seal Fenris did not recognize made it clear there was only one set of eyes that were meant to see the message within.

Fenris said nothing when Garrett came inside later, dropping the note on the table between them as he sat to eat. Rather than dig in to his dinner as he usually did after a hard day’s labor, Hawke played with his food.

Fenris cleared his throat. “The fence is mended then?”

Hawke grunted in return. So, it was to be that way, was it?

They kept their peace while Fenris ate and Hawke persisted in moving the food around his plate, pausing occasionally to sip from the wine goblet in front of him. Fenris waited.

“It’s from Varric.” When Hawke finally spoke, his voice was tight in this throat. The news was definitely not good, then.

“How is he? Still writing that dreck about us, is he?” Fenris asked, forcing a smile. 

He never really minded the tales the dwarf wrote about them. Varric changed enough salient details that he could pretend it wasn’t really himself that was so exposed there on the pages.

“Yes, though apparently he needs me there for, you know, a more realistic portrayal.”

Ah, the rumored Inquisition needed Hawke, then. But what about Fenris? Was his blade not good enough for them?

“Is this to be a pure adventure? The dwarf isn’t writing another love story, then?”

Hawke was silent again for a while and Fenris began to clear the table. He moved to take Hawke’s plate and the mage grabbed his wrist, thumb rubbing over the red leather bracer that replaced the scrap of crimson silk that had worn thin.

“Varric’s story might turn into a tragic romance if you came with me. While I love that you wear this, I would hate to see you in all in red. It’s not your color. Blue looks much better on you.”

All in red? Blue looks better? Ah, red lyrium. There were rumors it’s influence was being felt beyond the walls of Kirkwall. It was dangerous to almost everyone, but Fenris’s markings in particular? Yes. He saw it now. But this discussion was not over yet.

“Hmm. I might have some strong opinions on this storyline the dwarf has going.”

Hawke nodded. He may win out in the end, for what that was worth, but Fenris was not going to allow him to leave without a fight.

“I’m sure you do. I’ll be sure to take notes so I can pass them along to Varric when I see him.”

Fenris stepped closer and Hawke wrapped strong arms around him, forehead leaning in to press against his chest. Lowering his head, Fenris breathed in the scent of him, his hair still smelling sun-warmed, the scent of hay and hard work on his skin. 

“Perhaps I can go and research for him in Kirkwall. I’m sure Aveline has some slavers for me to kill. I can send Varric the reports. It may spice up the story.”

Hawke pulled back, a forced smile on his lips. “Maybe he can write our two tales up as a set. I’m sure his publisher would love that.”

Fenris nodded as Hawke pulled him down gently for a kiss that deepened quickly with the desperation they both felt growing between them.

“Come love,” Hawke said, after their lips parted, “Let’s give Varric something for his follow up to the Tale of the Champion.”

Silent, afraid to break the spell between them, Fenris nodded and smiled as Hawke stood and led him toward their bed.


	2. Sticks and Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's too bloody hot in Kirkwall and Hawke has had quite enough.

“Dog Lord.”  
  
The epithet came as a whisper from the pursed lips of a Hightown noble and was proceeded by a perturbed sniff. It was just loud enough for Hawke to hear, a taunt to undermine his sense of place in this strange new world of dark politics.  
  
Hawke heard her alright, though he was in no mood to play the game. He stopped in his tracks, laughed, and turned to face the woman.  
  
“Really? That’s the best you can do? Dog lord?”  
  
The noble was taken aback and hesitated responding. Her mistake.  
  
“Not exactly original is it? I mean, I can think of far worse things you could call a man who never had more than a few gold to his name until his ship came in. Come on now, why don’t you give it another try? I’m sure you can do better than that.”  
  
The woman simply stared at him, shocked that he had dared to respond to her degradation.  
  
“Let me see…” Hawke began to pace in front of her, noticing he had caught the attention of a few other minor nobility doing their best to keep in the relative cool of the marketplace shadows. The heat had driven all but the richest of Kirkwall’s populace, who could afford to go to seaside retreats, out in search of a cool breeze.  
  
“Let’s start simple, yes? We can follow up on the dog theme with more gusto, hmm? Here, let me show you how it’s done.”  
  
Sweat dripped off Hawke’s neck. He had already been irritably itchy when this woman chose him as her latest target.  
  
Hawke grinned. If she wanted to show how low a Dog Lord could sink, he would be happy to oblige. “Fereldens are all part dog, aren’t they? So, as an outsider, what do you think of the human race?”  
  
He could hear whispers among the crowd now. Fine, there was an audience. Time to turn on the infamous Hawke charm.  
  
“How did you get here? Did someone leave your crate open this morning?”  
  
A few merchants stopped their bargaining to watch the show and Hawke raised a rakish eyebrow.  
  
He sniffed the air, grinning. “I just stepped in something that was smarter than you, and it smelled better.”  
  
That got a chuckle from the crowd. Hawke winked at the noble.  
  
“And once you’ve insulted the entire country of Ferelden, you could have made it more personal. Like…”  
  
Head cocked to the side, much like his beloved mabari, Hawke thought for a moment, listening as the whole area quiet down. He knew he was treading dangerous territory here, but in for a silver, in for a sovereign.  
  
“I bet your mother has a loud bark.”  
  
Someone in the crowd bit back a laugh.  
  
“You have a good family tree, but the crop is a failure.”  
  
A quiet “oooooh” rumbled through the crowd.  
  
“It would be nice if we could manage to get on the same level, but I'll never get that low and you'll never get this high.“  
  
Outright chuckling broke out and the noble was now a bright shade of red. Anger boiled in her eyes and Hawke could tell that this little game of his had played itself out.  
  
“And on that note, I shall take my leave. After all, nothing brightens up a room like your absence.”  
  
Turning on his heel, Hawke strode off. After a moment there was a cheer from the crowd and a round of applause. Tempted to turn and take a bow, Hawke managed to control himself. He had already made a spectacle of himself and the noble. Mother would be less than thrilled with him when she found out. While he hadn’t been around Kirkwall’s nobility for very long, he knew would have to pay for this little performance somewhere down the line.  
  
And yet, it would be worth every obstacle they threw in his path just to see the appalled look on that noble’s face again.


	3. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris rescue a group of travelers from a particularly viscous bandit raid and their futures shift irrevocably.

The bandits had been more brutal than most. Not satisfied for whatever reason with simply robbing the travelers blind, these horrible creatures Hawke refused to call men had begun killing everyone they could get their hands on. Those who could lift a weapon, which meant anything from a sword to a cast iron frying pan in this case, was putting up the fight of their lives.

Fresh horses meant he and Fenris charged into the camp at a gallop, dismounting for the travelers' safety. A moment later fireballs illuminated the evening air, their light glinting off Fenris's Blade of Mercy, the irony of its name never lost on its wielder.

When the battle was done the bandits were all dead, but so was half the camp. Hawke watched Fenris's face shift from the focused grimace he wore in the heat of battle into the dark scowl that took its place each time they staged a similar rescue.  
Cries of the injured and dying along with howls of grief echoed through the camp and it was not the first time Hawke wished he could cast a spell that would wipe the sound from his memory.

As they walked through the camp to gather their horses, pained screams erupted from one of the few remaining tents. Before it had all gone bad and friendship was still a possibility, Anders had helped Hawke learn a few vital battlefield healing spells. It wasn't much, but Hawke was drawn to do what he could for the poor soul within.

He was stopped at the tent flap by two elves. The men glared at him.

"We thank you for saving the camp, shemlen, but this is not your concern."

"But I have some healing spells, they may ease her pain."

Hawke argued his point for a moment until Fenris arrived, interrupting.

"He's a good mage and has helped more of our people than you'll ever know. Let him aid her."

Hawke and Fenris had found long ago that it was often easier for Fenris to take point and speak as an elf, rather than a warrior, in such situations. 

The tent had gone silent behind the elf. A moment later, the sound of women crying softly took its place. Hawke’s face fell and he nodded.

“I… I am sorry, there wouldn’t have been much I could have done anyway, it seems."

The tent flap rustled and an elvhen woman came out, a bundle in her arms. She looked Hawke and Fenris up and down.

“You travel with this shemlen?” she asked Fenris and he nodded. “I thank you both for what you did for our group. Wish you’d gotten here sooner. This wee one would have had at least one parent left."

“A baby?” Hawke shook his head. “Born in the midst of all this…"

The woman shrugged. “The parents weren’t part of our group. They only stopped because the fools were traveling to Kirkwall and her water broke. Ready to give birth and sitting aback of a donkey for days on end. Bah."

Fenris spoke up, his tone softer than Hawke would have guessed. “And the babe? What will become of it?"

The woman frowned, shifting as she looked down, her movement revealing a tiny, red-faced head sleeping peacefully. The baby’s ears had the slightest point to them. An elvhen child. Already between a rock and a hard place and now with no parents to shelter her from the storms of life.

“Not sure. Got to see if someone’s willing to take her on. Looks like a few of the goats survived. We’ve no one to be wet nurse here. She’ll go to the Chantry, next town we get to."

Fenris looked at Hawke, who was surprised at the soft emotion written across his face. He quirked an eyebrow at his companion and was rendered speechless when the elf gave a subtle nod.

Hawke would follow his gut into whatever wild scheme presented itself, but Fenris was always the more measured of the two. He tread lightly and pondered the smallest decisions for far longer than Hawke would have imagined was necessary. If they were both thinking the same thing, it would mean Fenris had been preparing himself for something like this for some time.

Inclining his head to the woman, Fenris excused himself and Hawke. “If you would, my companion and I need to discuss the situation for a moment."

They stepped away from the tent into the woods just outside the camp. It was near dark, but the light from various fires gave off enough light to walk by. When they were out of earshot, Fenris turned to Hawke and held his hand up.

“I know, Hawke, the idea of taking on a child, especially an infant so young, seems like madness, but I have been thinking.” He began to pace a little, his steps crunching on the gravely soil as he walked. “We… we are not getting younger. In fact, I’ve noticed the hitch in your step when we sleep rough and it’s been a cold night. And my… my back aches a bit when a storm is coming."

Hawke raised an eyebrow at this and Fenris sighed loudly. “I did not mention it because I did not want to worry you."

The mage chuckled. “It was more I was wondering what kind of magic you’d learned to conjure. We always seem to get under cover before the skies opened up lately."

Fenris gave him a sheepish smile. “Be that as it may, I know we have spoken of… of going home. Things are quiet enough that perhaps… perhaps it is time. And I know you would find Hightown dull beyond belief in short order without a… distraction."

“A baby, though?” Hawke stepped closer, stopping Fenris’s pacing and placing his hands on his lover’s shoulders.

“No, Hawke.” And at that, Hawke began to frown, but when Fenris looked up at him, his gaze was fierce. “Not ‘a baby’… a daughter."

There were no words that Hawke could say to express his thoughts in that moment, so he did the only thing he could do. He wrapped his arms around Fenris and kissed him soundly. Lifting the warrior off his feet, Hawke laughed out loud.

“That would be a yes, then?” Fenris asked, smiling as Hawke released him from his vice grip.

“Oh yes.”

Grabbing Fenris’s hand, Hawke led him back towards the camp, almost at a run. “Auntie Aveline and Uncle Donnic are going to love her."

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris followed good-naturedly.

A bit of gold was all that was needed to pay for a goat for the babe’s milk. She was unneeded and unwanted by any in the camp, her parents’ bodies to be summarily burned the next day, along with the camp’s lost beloved members. An hour later Fenris and Hawke found themselves setting up a tent for their newly formed family.

“You hold her well, Hawke.”

Fenris watched the mage gently rock the tiny babe, a smile on his bearded face. Hawke shrugged. "I was often left to watch Bethany and Carver when they were very small. Mother needed to help Father on the farm and I was just old enough to be responsible."

Shifting a little Hawke pulled the blanket a little closer around the baby. A subtle pull of magic on Fenris's markings told him Hawke was keeping her plenty warm. “We have to name her now. She’s ours."

Fenris nodded. “Belavhana.”

He said it with such surety that Hawke barked a laugh out loud. “I do not get a vote I suppose?"

Fenris shrugged. “She will have your last name, for I have none."

With a frown, Hawke swallowed hard. “It could be yours as well, you know. We… there is nothing the Chantry will do for us, but I can give you that, legally… on paper anyway. I’m not sure it’s a name you want to be saddled with, now that I think about it. It doesn't have a sterling reputation in some circles. Though you’ve been associated with it for long enough it may as well be yours."

The look of surprise on Fenris’s face was enough to make it worth the bravery it took to say the words.

“I… Hawke… I hadn’t thought we would ever… yes. Yes, it has been long enough, hasn’t it?"

Fenris knelt next to Hawke and carefully leaned over the baby, taking Hawke’s face in his hands and kissing him gently. “Yes, it has been long enough. I am yours after all, and have been for some time now."

With Hawke smiling, Fenris turned a bit and busied himself, keeping the baby’s face in view as he folded and sorted her dead parents’ belongings. There were a few items that seemed of some import, a small engraving of a red bird and a steel finger ring that Hawke had determined held a minor, badly cast spell of protection. Fenris found he was already planning to give them to the child when she was old enough.

“And what does Belavhana mean, exactly?” Hawke spoke softly. "It sounds elvhen. I’m surprised."

With a nod, Fenris agreed. “It is elvhen. She is an elf, after all, so it's fitting she has something of her heritage. It means ‘one with many questions’, for that is what she will have as she grows. Questions about the world and her parents and where she came from. We will not be able to answer them for her, but she will have them just the same."

“Bela for short, then?"

Fenris shook his head at that and a bemused Hawke waited to hear what the elf had in mind instead, simply pleased to watch his mate be the impulsive one for once. 

“Ana."

Hawke nodded. “Yes. I like it. Ana Hawke."

Fenris leaned over once more and kissed the tiny infant’s head, so gently. Hawke marveled that the warrior could be so very soft, the elf’s deft fingers ghosting over the downy head before running through his own white tresses as he cleared his throat.

“Time for sleep, Hawke. Tomorrow we start on the road to Kirkwall."

“No.” Hawke said and it was once more Fenris’s turn to look at his lover in surprise. 

“Tomorrow the Hawke family goes home."


	4. Immortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after they get back together and before it all goes to shit. Hawke is fulfilling his duties and it's driving him nuts. Fenris helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are sooooo many other things I should be doing right now. But I saw [this drawing](http://ceruleanbluesart.tumblr.com/post/145111510460/a-lovely-princeau-hawke-10-sketch-commission-for) and finally knew what to do with this prompt.

Hawke’s note had said he needed Fenris for something urgent, but not dangerous, and they wouldn’t be leaving Hightown so could he please come as soon as possible. Even with that assurance, Fenris’s Blade of Mercy now stood resting in the entryway of the Amell Estate, with Sandal exploring its enchantments with interest.

Fenris was led into the drawing room to find Hawke dressed in formal finery, sitting stiffly on a backless chair. The mage’s face brightened when the elf walked in and there was an immediate clucking of disapproval from the right side of the room. 

A woman stood there, an easel before her, a palette and brushes in her hands and smudges of paint on various places on her face. There was even a streak of blue in her hair that reminded Fenris of Hawke’s eyes.

“Ser Hawke! If you persist in moving whenever someone enters the room, I will not be able to finish this!”

Hawke sighed and Fenris heard the low grumble under his breath, though it would seem the woman did not. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He followed up by clearing his throat. “Do you think we could take a small break? I have urgent business with my friend here and I believe I smell Orana’s very special pasties, so lunch is due soon anyway.”

The woman sighed. “I suppose. I admit I am a bit peckish and your housekeeper is rather a good cook.” She placed her palette and brushes down, brushing her hands down the smock that covered her clothes. “Though we should not stop for too long. I don’t want to lose the light.”

With a nod, Hawke was out of his chair, placed the fake sword he was posing with on the ground and grabbed Fenris by the wrist, pulling him from the room at a brisk walk.

They crossed the entrance hall to the library, Hawke flinging the door open and closing it swiftly behind them when Fenris had cleared the doorway.

“Hawke? You sent for me?” Fenris asked, concern in his voice.

Hawke began giggling. It was a little manic and unsettling. “I have been sitting still all morning, Fenris. If I don’t get out of here I’m going to have to do something drastic.”

“Is this about the painting?” Fenris asked, his brow furrowed. “I am not certain I understand.”

Nodding Hawke moved to drop into a seat, but stopped himself. “Yes. Andraste’s sweet knickers, I can’t even sit down for fear of wrinkling myself or mussing my hair or… help. Please, Fenris.”

Fenris chuckled. “You are sitting for this painting for what reason?”

“Aveline suggested it. Mother wanted it done years ago, when we reclaimed the estate, but I never did it. Immortalize me as an Amell and all that. Now… well, my status as Champion means I need an official portrait of some kind. Makes me look like I’m trying to fulfill my duties as an upright citizen. And with tensions in the city how they are…” Hawke frowned. “I just wish I could have posed in my armor, standing over a dragonling corpse or something. Wouldn’t that be more exciting than some stupid formal portrait?”

A smirk emerged on Fenris’s lips. “It would certainly match this Champion’s personality better, though I do not know that history would be so forgiving.”

Hawke sighed. “I know, I know. I just… I’m going crazy here. I’ve just got to get through the afternoon and the damn thing will be done. Or done enough that the artist can finish the details without me.”

Fenris folded his arms, one bare hand touching his chin in thought. He had forgone his armor, instead dressing in finely tailored pants and a loose, but well-made shirt. His belt emphasized his slim waist, and he noted Hawke’s eyes traveling up and down his form as he stood there thinking. 

Hawke interrupted his thoughts, a tone of envy in his voice, with something warmer below the surface. “You look so… comfortable.”

Fenris smiled at the shift. “Hmmm. You need a break from these clothes, is that correct?” 

Hawke nodded, his head bobbing up and down as he frowned. 

Shaking his head, Fenris rolled his eyes. “I can help you with that. We can get them off you without wrinkling them. You just need someone who’s been trained at such things.”

Face brightening at the prospect, Hawke smiled broadly. “You know how to do that?”

Fenris nodded. It had been some time, but he knew the tricks of dressing and undressing a man for formal dinners. Danarius had made sure of that.

Taking a step towards Hawke, Fenris felt the twinge of old memories surfacing. They were not Leto’s memories, but his own more recent past, dark and angry. 

Hawke put a hand up as he approached, shaking his head. “Wait, love. Stop. I… I know where this training you’re talking about came from. Danarius, right?”

Fenris nodded. Had the emotions of his memories shown on his face?

“Then no, thank you, I’ll stay dressed. I’m being a bit of a baby about it, I admit.” Hawke gave him a tight smile. “I’m not going to make you relive any of that just so I can be a little more comfortable for a few moments.”

Fenris felt the flush in his face and ears. “Hawke. You…”

“I’m kind and amazing and very, very handsome, that about cover it?”

Chuckling was a natural and regular occurrence around Hawke and Fenris no longer made an effort to hide it. “Yes, Hawke. It does.”

Still stepping closer, but not allowing their bodies to touch, Fenris reached up, placing his hands on Hawke’s jaw while staying clear of his hair. He pulled the man’s face down, kissing his lips long and slow.

Hawke moaned, telegraphing his next move. Fenris let go of his face in time to catch his arms before they had a chance to wrap around him.

“Stay still, Hawke. You will wrinkle.” Fenris shook his head, laughing as he stepped back out of range of the mage’s long reach. “It is still a wonder how someone so undisciplined became such a powerful mage. Dragon has more self-control than you do.”

At the mention of his name, the mabari lifted his head from his place at the fire and let out a quiet “Boof”.

Hawke smirked. “Did you just call me a wonder? Might go to a man’s head, calling him things like that.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Shall I leave you to it, then? I am sure the artist would like to have you back by now.”

If Fenris didn’t know better, the comically dramatic drop in Hawke’s posture would have been cause for concern. 

“Alright.” Hawke was far too old for his tone to be called ‘whiny’, wasn’t he? “Can you stay? Read to me or something? You know your voice makes me… on second thought, maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

There was warmth in Fenris’s smile as he began shooing Hawke towards the door. “I will wait here in the library.”

Hawke waggled his eyebrows at him. “I would rather you wait in my bedroom.”

“Hmmm.” Fenris appeared to ponder the idea, his smile quirking into something more suggestive. “I may… migrate there.”

Hawke pumped his fist in triumph and all Fenris could think of was how scarily accurate Varric was when he told stories of the man.

Hawke was grinning, his eyes bright, his clothing and hair and beard perfectly groomed. Fenris felt something tighten in his chest and called out to him as he opened the door, his voice choked.

“Hawke?”

The mage turned back, his face questioning at the shift in Fenris’s tone. The elf stepped forward, fingers lightly brushing the man’s cheek.

“The light in that room… it really does catch you just right. You look… it makes me proud to be at your side.”

Hawke bussed him firmly on the lips before ducking from the room, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Fenris was grinning too as he stepped towards the bookshelves. A few moments later he heard the artist’s voice echo across the hall and laughed out loud.

“Ser Hawke, I must ask you to please stop smiling!”


	5. Circus

Fenris had once had to guard Danarius when a circus came through Minrathous. A boisterous, bawdy affair with decorated slaves, strange beasts, and skilled acrobats. It had been a spectacle of color and movement, complete with a midway full of barkers and rigged games of chance. It had been a tricky place to keep his master safe as the chaos swirled around them and danger could have easily appeared from nowhere. Fenris had been fortunate that night and there was only one young assassin to neutralize, services purchased from the Crows of Antiva by some minor upstart magister.

Wild as it was, that evening had been far better controlled and organized than the expedition into the Deep Roads Fenris found himself on now.

He had not been with Hawke’s group for long when he was invited on this journey. It had seemed a good idea at the time and remained so even up until their departure. A runaway slave had little chance to better their prospects, after all.

Now, Fenris was questioning whether following this young apostate and his dwarf partners was less of a chance for a better life and more of a suicide mission.

Despite the map in their possession, they had already gotten lost three times, misplaced two crates of supplies, and scared up a nest of nightstalkers that had managed to drag one of the hirelings back into the depths of their lair.

“I think I’ll call the next story ‘Disaster in the Deep Roads’,” Varric muttered to his left.

Fenris barked out a laugh. “The only question is, who will be the hero of the tale? You, dwarf?”

“Careful there elf, or it might just be you on the cover.” Varric smiled despite the bags under his eyes. None of them were sleeping well. “Maybe I should make it a tragic love story. A lyrium-marked elf and his star-crossed love affair with an apostate mage. Magic would bring them together. Magic would tear them apart.”

“I beg your pardon?” Fenris lifted an eyebrow at Varric. 

“Heh. Don’t think I don’t see you taking a glance at young Serrah Hawke’s better features when you think no one’s looking.”

When the elf turned to glare at him, the look in his was angry enough for Varric to back off.

“No offense meant Fenris. You do what you need to do.”

“I need no such help.” Fenris growled the words out between gritted teeth.

“Gotcha. Although, you might want to know I’ve caught him checking you out, too.” Varric shrugged, as if he didn’t take any interest one way or the other. “Just… if you need any help in that department, I do happen to know the guy pretty well.” 

At that Fenris stormed off, his pace quickened until he caught up with Hawke.

“Hey there.” The mage greeted him apprehensively. 

“Hawke.” Fenris replied with a nod.

They had been on tenterhooks with each other since a drunken night at the Hanged Man a few weeks before. There had been some ill-considered flirting and a fleeting grope or two and the next morning they met up to head to the Wounded Coast, both hung over and mortified. 

“So,” Hawke smirked. “I finally get to plunge my staff into the Deep Roads, eh?”

A chuckle escaped Fenris’s lips before he could stop himself. The man was an infuriating mixture of youthful power, bad humor, and devilish good looks. He also seemed to know exactly how to push all of Fenris’s buttons.

“Ridiculous.” The elf shook his head, getting the grin that spread across his lips back under control. “Do you think we are headed in the right direction this time?”

Hawke sobered up. He had family to go back to, people that needed him. As much as he might cover it with humor, Fenris knew there was fear of disaster beneath his veneer of bravado.

“I don’t know exactly, which is not very reassuring right now.” 

The group paused. There was a small rock slide blocking their way forward and a few dwarves were headed to the front of the column to clear the way.

“I just hope everything is alright topside, you know?”

Fenris simply nodded his head. He didn’t really know how that felt, to have a family. Though he was at least starting to know what it was like to have friends that he worried for and who worried for him in return. It felt good, even when the worry was intense enough to feel bad. A few months ago and that description would have made little sense to him.

“Maybe…” Hawke hesitated and Fenris removed his sword, leaning it against a rock to rest his back. “Maybe when we get back and we have our shares we should go out and celebrate.”

“Mmmmm,” Fenris replied. “We could take everyone to someplace that smells less like piss and vomit for once.”

“I… uh… yeah, the gang. Right.” Hawke’s ears looked redder than they had a moment ago.

“Are you feeling well, Hawke?” Fenris asked. 

Hawke cleared his throat, a sad ghost of a smile on his face and Fenris felt as if he had missed something in their conversation. 

“Fit as a fiddle. Don’t mind me.”

Shouts from the front of the column sounded off that they way was clear once more.

“Glad to hear it. I would be… concerned if you felt ill.” Fenris felt heat in his own ears and that little flicker of new feeling in his chest burned a little brighter.

“Onward, Fenris! To fame and fortune!” 

Hawke’s face returned to the mask of joviality Fenris was becoming accustomed to seeing when the man became uncomfortable. Grabbing his staff, the mage strode forward to catch up with Varric who had passed them a moment before. Slinging his sword back onto his shoulder, Fenris trailed behind them. 

He smiled as he watched Hawke telling Varric some wild story, most likely about dragons, quite possibly about mabari. The man was a firecracker, a clieg light, a wild chaotic brightly lit carnival unto himself.

Fenris wondered, if he continue to follow and allowed himself to enjoy the view, would Hawke lead him to even stranger places than this? And if he could allow himself to, would he get swept up in the colorful circus that was Hawke, too?


End file.
